A Thousand Yesterdays
by khaki knight
Summary: Sometime after SO2 and Bluesphere, Opera Vectra reflects and dissects the turns her love life has taken. Sepia toned reflection ensues.


_**A Thousand Yesterdays**_

_Speculation about how everyone's favorite heiress might have felt in __**Star Ocean: The Second Story **__and __**Star Ocean: Bluesphere**__, brought to you by khaki knight._

_Disclaimer: __**Star Ocean **__and characters, related ideas, etc. are the legal property of __**Square-Enix/tri-Ace**__. Characters, etc. are only borrowed for what I hope will be entertainment purposes. Also, the closest I've come to making money with this thing is thinking about it at work, and the project itself is 100 profit free – honest! This disclaimer applies to the entire work. Insert more legal jargon here if it will keep me from facing a lawsuit. I will turn you into a beehive!_

**OOO**

I remember the first time I saw him.

He was a fresh-faced pretty boy looking completely out of place in the seedy bar where I had decided to search for information regarding Ernest. I wrote him off as quickly as I noticed him – either he was the type that would eventually become like the afternoon lushes I drank under the table for scraps of information (and thus no one particularly special) or he would soon realize his mistake and abruptly turn tail and leave (and thus probably useless for leads).

Of course, in my defense, I _was _rather distracted at the time, consumed by thoughts of Ernest; otherwise, I might have actually paid closer attention to our errant ensign, might have noticed the worn looking Feddie uniform he wore haphazardly, and we all might have been spared a few weeks of tedious backtracking...

And hey, perhaps I was a little more buzzed than I cared to admit. While the drunks in _that _particular bar could each hardly hold their liquor, there_ were_ a _lot _of them.

I admit I _was_ a bit surprised when he neither backed out of the bar or saddled up to the counter and started throwing back the drinks. He casually leaned near the door, his confused looking eyes never once leaving me. I guess I should say I was flattered, but, remember, I had dismissed him already.

The last of the barflies I had yet to 'finish off' chortled and pointed a shaky hand over to him, declaring in a slurred voice that I apparently had myself a new admirer. My 'drinking buddy' also made a few choice comments about his age, wondering openly if my admirer had ever felt this way about a woman before. He finished, muttering 'ain't that sweet' and descending into giggles, before unceremoniously dropping unconscious to the bar, his forehead landing in a pool of spilled liquor with a satisfying 'smock.'

While I questioned the messenger, I figured he was more or less right about my 'admirer.' He _was _staring at me in such a strange way – three eyes or not.

I drained off the rest of my glass, shaking my head. Seven bars in five towns, and still no information on long lost Ernest – a fact I was quite willing to openly bemoan to the rest of the bar. With perhaps a bit more of a flourish than was strictly necessary, I twirled away from the bar and picked my way back to the door.

Judging from the way his eyes followed me as I approached the door, the kid must've been really enamored. On a spur of the moment, drunken impulse, I stopped several steps short of the door way, casually placing a hand on my hip and tossing my hair. I figured I'd ask him the same question I'd been asking everyone, and in the process maybe give this kid the biggest thrill he was ever going to have in his backwater undeveloped planet life – interrogated by a beautiful space alien who he was clearly smitten with!

So, I guess you could say that from the beginning, our relationship has been one of me constantly underestimating him.

The surprising part was when he nodded after a moment, his forehead suddenly creased in thought. A three eyed man, in Cross? My vamp-ish act was suddenly dropped, and I leaned forward, suddenly demanding to know which way that was. He looked a little put off the instant after I started making demands, but something in my eyes must have given me away as his expression was suddenly filled with sympathy. He directed me west, and I was suddenly off.

As I stalked out of the bar, into the harsh sunlight, perhaps it was then when I finally noted his roughed up looking Federation uniform – or, rather I should say, _thought_ I noticed it. I quickly dismissed the idea as impossible and just a flight of fancy: the Ark System was far beyond Federation borders, and, to boot, it was protected by the UP3, so it was impossible for any Federation officials to be planetside (and, after all, he _was_ wearing a _sword _for chrissakes!).

To be honest, the kid didn't pop up again in my thoughts at all in the next few weeks. It was all about pounding the pavement in Cross (back and forth... back and forth...) then finally getting an audience with the king, then off to a crumbling mountain ruin. Ernest, Ernest, Ernest, vanished boy o' mine... Where had you gone?

I hadn't actually gotten all that far. Really. Two corridors in and I find a melted wall, and then the next thing I know a big ol' party of adventurers had managed to sneak up on me, led by the not-barfly boy. Suffice it to say, when he roughly grabbed my arm and dragged me away from his companions, I was a bit shocked. I was about to slug him and introduce him to the business end of the Kaleidoscope when he started spouting all the right words: Federation, UP3, spaceship, Tetragenesis, Earth.

If that left me reeling, the undead brass lizards (who still wore the battle damage from Ernest's illegal Firefly) sent me tottering, and the discovery of Ernest's very empty lab finished the job. Was it wrong of me to notice that the blankets still smelled of his cologne? Several old notebooks and other assorted notes adorned the battered looking desk. As I leafed through them ("...a finding that surprised me, and ultimately questioned the Mostel model of underdeveloped planet dynasty formation; not to mention...") his spidery scrawl seemed to cut at me. He always did prefer paper to tablets...

Ernest was gone. I had missed him; by all accounts, by some time.

We returned to Cross Castle in silence. I was trying to keep a brave face up about the whole matter. Apparently I was doing a very fine job, as nearly everyone else seemed to be in comparatively high spirits despite the less than optimal results.

I don't even clearly remember how it started. Someone had commented on how soon we would find Ernest, but their voice rang with hollow confidence. I realized the truth of the hopelessness, for the first time in a long while. It had seemed so easy when I had set out on this journey, and yet...

I stopped dead in my tracks; no one seemed to notice anything and continued onwards, disappearing into the castle. The absurdity and absolute poetic justice of the entire situation slammed into me all at once: I had chased this man halfway across the galaxy, and now the trail had ended in a dingy ruin on a backwater underdeveloped planet.

I wanted to run, anywhere, _everywhere_, just to try and escape from my hopelessness and self-pity. I turned, preparing to run back the way we had came, and—

—felt a firm grip on my wrist. My head snapped back, the moment's self-pity flashing to self-righteous anger. He met my recriminating gaze, a mixture of concern and questions on his face. We stood like that for a good minute or so.

Was he always going to push me away like this? Did he just not care about me? Was he even still alive? ...Was I just not good enough...?

...I hadn't realized when I started crying, or when I had started shouting the questions in frustration. Tears were running freely down my cheeks, and I felt sick and weak and helpless. Before I knew it, I had buried my face into _his_ shoulder, weakly beating my fists against his chest as sobs wracked me.

He said nothing for a long while. After a few minutes, he gently forced me back, a gentle yet firm grip on either bicep as he looked me square in the eye (not an easy feat, considering mine outnumbered his). He spoke in a quietly intense voice, and told me a great number things; that no matter what I needed to keep hope alive; that if I really loved Ernest that much _he_ for one was confidant things would work out in the end; that someday I'd find him again.

Leave it to _him_ to somehow equate my entire relationship with Ernest to a galactic scale version of hide and seek and still manage to make it sound comforting.

We made an agreement then: I'd travel with their group, and they'd help me find Ernest; in return, through Ernest, I might just be this lost little Feddie's trip home, back up into space and to his distant blue globe...

(They call Earth the only blue planet in the Federation...)

After our assorted drama in and around Cross, we traveled... an unlucky trek to take the long way to lost Eluria. It occasionally seemed like every turn we made found us stymied in that endeavor.

It gave the two of us a lot of time to talk. Does that surprise you? We were the only two from off planet. It was occasionally just... _easier_ to talk to one another. He cared far more about the UP3 than I ever did (thank you, Ernest, for instilling in me a healthy distain for Federation law), but I could only take so many blank looks whenever some 'advanced' concept accidentally slipped out in conversation with the others.

He hated talking about his father... (Yes, I had recognized the famous name stitched on his jacket almost from the get-go.) But the first time I placed any emphasis on his last name, the 'prodigal son' just cringed and clammed up. I can't really blame him, I guess. If he had known enough about Tetragenesis politics to ask about _my _last name I probably would have reacted the same way.

So, we talked about other things. Like gambling – a subject near and dear to my heart. Like nearly all of my vices, I picked that one up while at college, the breath of fresh air after years of stodgy boarding schools. The bad luck that had catapulted him across the galaxy must have stuck around, for he was never very good at gambling. But at the same time he was always game and never once welched on the many bets I won – not a feat many could claim.

Those were idle days... at least compared to what followed. A full on war with bizarre creatures created by an OPA that fell from the skies... And a weapon that, of course, required some last secret material to be fetched from a distant and remote place.

I'll not lie: the war against that OPA had wrapped me up in it all. I've never claimed to be that heroic or noble or altruistic (if I did, would I have left the Vectra family behind?). But seeing the destruction on the front lines of Lacour (and the haggard stream of refugees who managed to escape El before the kingdom fell) is a hard sight to see and not be affected.

Besides... there was something to his determination and optimism. It would just... suck you up into whatever his cause was. They say his father was like that, too.

The Hoffman Ruins. The name is seemingly burned into my memory. It was raining as we approached those ruins tucked in a forgotten mountain valley. I'm still not sure how Lacour Weapons R&D had even found out about the place. The mission inside was more or less routine.

But then, on the way out... a flash of gray... My heart was pounding. I made a strangled sound – half surprised choke and half Ern's name. My heels clicked loudly across the stone plaza. Before anyone in the party could react, I was off.

I found him in a long forgotten avenue, old columns collapsed all around us. From the moment I saw the expression on Ernest's face, though, I knew something was wrong. It was, honestly, the way he looked at me. The Ernest_ I_ know would have been far too enamored with those fallen columns to pay me much heed. As he advanced, seeming to ooze false charm like a snake and a... _hunger_ in his eyes, I began to panic. It was Ernest, but it wasn't, and I was going to have to choose between defending myself from whatever _was _standing before me, and, and...

And then he rushed. And in that second, all that flashed in my mind was that moment at Cross Castle, and a gentle smile and a reassuring word.

I still remember clearly that right after, the gunshot's echo seemed far too loud in the ruined plaza. The wound wasn't fatal – as much as I hate to admit it, the shot impacting the shoulder was as due to luck as any application of skill – but Ernest crumpled to the ground.

Greenish energy sprang up from his prone form, which, though at times it managed to look absurdly cartoonish, filled my stomach with dread. The next sound I heard was determined footfalls and the drawing of a sword, and then everything descended into a wild chaos with a suddenly all too corporeal spirit.

After... Did I cry? Probably. The years have softened the sharper edges of the memory. All I really remember now was the ache in my shoulders from the battle, and the weariness all over... and distant relief mixed with, of all things, a tinge of sadness.

That should have been that. Ernest's ship was still safely tucked away nearby. I had finally succeeded in my goal in getting him back. There was nothing tying me to this little green planet, except...

Imagine my surprise when I was suddenly offering to stay on, help with the fight. If Ernest was surprised or disappointed with that impulsive decision, he hid it well, and quickly fell in line with what I was proposing.

Our resident Feddie, however, I noted with some small satisfaction, responded with surprise, each and every bit registering on his face. He really shouldn't have been so surprised, though; a gambler always takes her debts very seriously, after all.

In all my travels across the known galaxy with Ernest, I had seen a fair number of strange things. But never in my life had I imagined what awaited us at the top of Eluria Tower, or what was beyond that. The madness reached a crescendo there, and we failed completely in our mission to save Expel as we knew it. As we quickly found out, it wasn't even an issue of a demon plague spreading across the land.

We were defeated – quite badly, as it turns out – and I was sure we were dead. It was looking so grim that Ernest actually took my hand. The irony was that gesture – one which I had wanted for _so long_ – was wasted, as every fiber of my being was locked on that silly blonde pretty boy, now oh so serious and determined to fight those bastards with his last breath...

We woke up elsewhere. I thought it was heaven, for a moment. Pretty flowers and sunshine... It was only later that I realized that something was off. The sunshine, though warm, was... lacking. And the flowers, while beautiful, seemed to be... flat... uninspiring.

And then we met a man name Narl and a soldier named Marianna and a doctor named Mirage and others and... An ancient empire? A people who no longer evolved? Rena as an alien (well, moreso than just being from Expel)? And those ten super beings who kicked our ass across the Ark System, really biological superweapons from the past, who were never supposed to be seen again...? Ernest, I noticed as Narl and others explained to us, seemed about ready to wet himself with excitement. That excitement only built as we crisscrossed Energy Nede in the effort to come up with something – _anything_ – to stop our foes.

Ain't he just the catch, ladies?

But I guess that it was Rena who suffered the most from reversals and twists of it all. Not only did she discover that she was born off Expel, but also billions of years in the past. The random chance that brought her to her adoptive mother then, with just enough of a respite for her to grow to be among those out to stop these deranged lost sons from her original homeland...

The gods must either be malicious or capricious. That or fate has twisted sense of humor.

We struggled through four difficult trials and countless battles. It was during those battles that _he _kept us going. Not many men could what he did – keep us moving forward, despite the crushing defeats, despite the death of an entire planet and the potential destruction of far more. He never liked to admit it, but I think there was always something of an optimist in him. A fire had lit in him somewhere back on Expel, and even now it smoldered, never giving up, never surrendering despite the long odds.

I always did so admire men so passionate...

We thought we were ready. And we still were defeated. And we lost some good people, too. And hope was ebbing out of us like sand through a sieve... Before our very eyes, the _Calnus_, the ship _his _father commanded, was casually blown from the sky by their power.

He never got to say goodbye...

The stakes had been raised: a quiet and detached part of my mind realized with horror that if they could destroy the _Calnus _so easily, the Federation (as those ten gleefully reminded us) could do nothing-what-so-ever to stop their plans.

We were defeated again, and barely escaped. Time was running short, and there was but one last chance for us... A sealed weapons lab, the home to tools of destruction the likes of which hadn't been seen in the galaxy for eons, was the last possible tool left to the Nedians to battle those ten monsters, the last opportunity to stop their madness before it spread beyond that little artificial world...

We saw her mother, there, amid the ruins... a recording made seconds before she was killed, billions of years ago. And the effect on Rena... I realized that there was only one person who could bring her out of that new funk, and I think the rest of the party did, too. When I told him to go after her, he gave me a confused look, but after a moment nodded and turned to chase after her.

Then it was a hurricane of activity – so much to do: gather the material, construct the weapon, prepare the battle strategy. It flew by, all leading up to the day we were attacked in Fun City. And then there was nothing left, but one last night before our assault.

That last night... _He_ was still hurting – it was written all over his face. There was this sort of wounded way he kept staring up at the stars, as if he still expected the _Calnus _to be up there. ...I wanted to talk with him that night, when he had slipped away to the beach after the last meeting had broken up... But Ernest had said he wanted to talk to me as well, right after the meeting. I was torn, and ultimately, I decided to play it safe – maybe this time Ernest was finally going to... to...

I guess I don't really know what I expected. Any hopes that Ernest was finally going to talk seriously about our relationship – _our future_ – were dashed when he thrust an odd looking wooden sculpture at me the instant I stepped into his quarters, that same over-zealous gleam in his eye as he explained the significance it had for several of his theories ("...the existence of such an empire, of course, radically alters our understanding of much of galactic history; specifically, the legends on several worlds of a paradise lost, for example, must be viewed in a new light pending these...").

Intellectually, I understood that he was trying – in his typical 'Ernest way,' he was sharing his passion for archeology with me. In many ways, it was those same characteristics which had attracted me to him in the first place...

Quietly, though, I was beginning to wonder how much of that initial attraction had been due to an urge to rebel against the 'Vectra destiny.' And how exotic a trail worn professor of archeology would have seemed to a starry-eyed college student heiress—already chafing at the duties and responsibilities an aristocratic background entailed.

Those, however, were doubts I kept to myself. It wasn't as if I no longer cared for Ernest – between us was a comfort only long years of companionship could have forged. And his never ending passion for his trade and craft never ceased to take my breath away.

_Now, if only some of that passion was directed to me..._

I nodded in all the right places, and made general appreciative remarks, to the degree that Ernest never even noticed I was barely paying attention – his mind was already light years ahead, already grappling with the next historical questions posed by the latest discoveries. He didn't even notice it when I slipped out the door, my arms folded tightly and my lips pressed into a thin line.

I wandered listlessly through the corridors of the building, taking in the bizarre sights only a civilian amusement park converted hastily to a military instillation can provide. I guess I shouldn't have been terribly surprised when I found I was standing on the beach. I paused for a moment, there, right at the exit of the building. Maybe _he_ wanted to be alone?

But, then again, I was getting rather tired of always worrying about what others in my life wanted. _I _wanted to check on him; accordingly, my battered high-heels cut across the sand of the beach...

...only to find someone else had beaten me there. The flash of pale moonlight shimmering off blue hair was the first tip. The two of them sat side by side, staring up at the sky, quietly talking. After a few minutes, she gently leaned her head on his shoulder.

I didn't call out to them... it – _they _– just looked so _right_ for at that moment. Instead, I turned on my heel and marched back to my room. The next morning, I wasn't greatly surprised to find that the two of them had stayed out there on the beach all night.

In retrospect, I suppose that revelation hurt, but I never let myself dwell on it long enough for my thoughts to stray that way. ... _Couldn't_ let myself dwell on it...

One last push... All or nothing for the fate of the universe, a struggle to clean up the sins of Nede's past before they could doom us all... Success, tempered by the death of one planet—and people—and the rebirth of another. And when all was said and done, our group split up, and I returned to the stars... with Ernest.

_Good-bye, Claude. I'll... Good-bye._

I've often wondered if my staying with Ernest was a failing on my part. I won't deny that a tiny part of me always held out hope that one day he would... _change _somehow. Not a change in any great way, but... perhaps just for his focus to reorient even the _slightest_, for him to, even just every once in a while, put his work away and look at _me_. As if...

_As if I wasn't an afterthought_.

For two years I held out hope, acting as constant companion, lover, mother, and laboratory assistant all in one. I don't want this to seem as if those years were a disaster. Despite the danger and risk involved in the occupation, despite the obvious failings in my romantic life, those years were some of the best I've had.

And wasn't it better than the alternative? While, out of necessity, my parents were grooming Opal as the next head of the Vectra family, I knew that they would spare no effort if they thought they could successfully entice me back to the role I had been born and raised for.

Going home, then, held little attractiveness, at least for the time being. ...and I did so enjoy traveling the stars... From the Vectra satellite, they had seemed so distant and enticing, far removed from the hardball politics down on the swirling green globe of Tetragenesis.

I guess it's ironic, then, that our journey across the cosmos was cut short by being dragged down to the surface of another planet. The indomitable Bluesphere, the planet Edifice... I had warned Ernest that we should steer clear of it, but he had been dogged in his determination. As we struggled out of the wreckage of our craft and through the massive jungle we landed in the middle of, I struggled in vain not to repeatedly shout "I told you so" at him.

And when Ernest and I finally learned that help was coming, suddenly our situations seem reversed: _he_ – the lost looking boy who had wandered into a bar so long ago –was the one who needed to come up with the escape plan, a path back to the stars... The fact that he crash landed just like we had, or that Precis and her party were actually the first to respond, or that he was quickly sidelined by illness were all immaterial to me.

I was surprised by how much I had missed him: for a Feddie, he had always managed surprisingly good conversation on a wide number of topics (something I never knew I missed until after those short days had passed). ...And when he got better, I was stunned by how much leaner he had gotten. The boyish young man I remembered had been tempered into a fine young Federation officer.

And damn if he hadn't become handsome...

Of course, he came attached at the hip with a certain blue haired healer, but... It wasn't like I was seriously considering something or anything...

We barely got off that Bluesphere. Yet again, we were at the mercy of legacies from lost and forgotten civilizations. The irony didn't escape me, especially considering my so-called significant other.

Ah, Ernest, excitable boy o' mine. It took me years to realize that maybe our relationship had _always_ boiled down to potential... to what he _might _have become someday... But I had to come to terms with the fact that it was doubtful that he ever _would_. It _is _so difficult to accept that someone may not change in the way we want them to...

Case in point: in the moments after finally escaping Edifice, after all our struggles against the Mother Edifice computer network, there was only one thing on Ernest's mind: Moore and Moorians. As our extended party finally managed to pull away from the planet, Ernest explained to me in great detail how our assorted trials and tribulations could be the key needed to crack that ancient mystery right open.

The most... striking thing about that little tirade was how casually Ernest kept mentioning Admiral Kenni, and his adventures on Roak. He never meant anything by it; Ernest was just so honestly excited that his mind just never managed to make the connection between Claude and his departed father.

_He_ never said a word. Even as we were all together in the extended cabin of our makeshift escape craft, together in close quarters with no where else to go, Claude said nothing. If one had been paying close attention, it was clear how he would wince every time his father came up, how there were still things there that he wanted to say, but would never get the chance...

I didn't say goodbye that time. In fact, from the moment he finally was cured in that tiny wreck of a village, I had barely spoken to him. Better to keep my distance, I rationalized, else...

Heh... You know, I was never quite sure what 'else'was in that case, but I had quickly decided that was one gamble I just could not take in good conscience.

Besides, he had looked so at _ease _with Rena... In fact, I guess I can blame them for the great changes that soon followed in my life. After so much time, I had forgotten what a working relationship _looked _like. And I knew with sudden striking clarity that I was no longer in one.

Time quickly passed, and once again I found myself on a wild whirlwind tour of the universe. Six months of the Status Quo on Fargett, six months more on Roak ("...that 'Moorian' culture was significantly more diverse than previously postulated—new surveys on Roak alone have offered tantalizing prospects, and that coupled with new data from Fargett and our new findings on Edifice together..."), and my mind had finally been made up.

In the end, in came down to a simple fact: I wanted more than _potential_.

I nearly left him there, in one of the smaller bays at Clatos Spaceport. At one point, Ernest was standing impatiently on the metal ramp leading up to our battered old craft, looking at me with a curious expression. I realized then that I could just turn and leave, and I doubted that he would mind very much. The only thing that stopped me was Ernest's offhanded remark about hoping Federation customs wouldn't hassle us much at Moonbase. Moonbase meant Earth, and Earth meant...

On Moonbase, I quickly and quietly packed my things, and departed. When I told Ernest I was leaving, he asked—with keen lack of interest that only Ernest could make sound somehow not completely insulting—when I would be coming back. Even I was surprised when he merely nodded as I shook my head. A simple good-bye with no theatrics (workmanlike and functional, something just like Ernest)... I was shocked again by how hard it was to keep walking down the ramp and away from him that day.

I'm not sure what I was expecting, right after. I was alone (for the first time in years, it seemed) on Moonbase. All that I knew was that I... wanted to see _him_. Nothing would ever come of that, of course... If Ernest was a ship that had finally set sail, Claude was a ship that would never leave port.

The genesis of my love life had been schoolyard crushes, then Ernest – hardly the kind of supportive relationships most were used to. I guess that's why _his_ quiet moments of reassurance, of playful jibes made in good spirits, and a constant sort of dependability had such an effect on me.

So, really, it was entirely Claude's fault. I can now, with a clean conscience, lay my act of finally letting go of a relationship that no longer worked at his feet—lay the strength I needed to break free from the times I spent with him. For such a major change comes bound with the weight of a thousand yesterdays, of convenience and familiarity. But, then again...

It's always in a woman's power to change.


End file.
